Wounds
by Alemae
Summary: Delving just a little deeper into the relationship between assassins. Not everything is about rainbows and unicorns and flowers. Sometimes, things get messy and people get hurt.


A/N: Hey y'all, long time no see! I went on a break for quite a while because I had some major exams and then because I had a major holiday and major lazing around to do. So, I apologize. This has been on my com for quite a while and I'm sorry for not posting it. I recently kinda relocated to an altogether different country so I'm still trying to get used to everything. Hope you'll like this one! And thanks for all the kind response for my previous story! :)

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"Shit," Clint hissed through clenched teeth. He gingerly lifted his shirt from his stomach, exposing the newest bloody gash to grace his already scarred torso. The wound stretched all the way across his stomach, the edges puckered and red and weeping droplets of blood. He reached for the medical kit situated on his nightstand and winced slightly when the movement caused his wound to twinge painfully. With practiced ease, he opened the lid with one hand and fished out a half empty bottle of iodine and several pieces of gauze. He would need to restock the kit again soon.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Clint froze at the sudden knocks on his door.

"Barton! It's Romanoff. Open your damn door. _Now._" Natasha's muffled but clearly pissed off voice could be heard through the stainless steel door. Clint flinched and swore under his breath at the obvious threat in her voice. He knew that despite her demand, she would override the security measures on his door and storm into his quarters in about twenty seconds. Gritting his teeth, he threw the pieces of gauze and iodine back into the med kit and shoved the kit under his bed with his foot, whacking his toes on the bedframe in the process.

"Bloody he- " His cursing was interrupted as his door opened and then slammed into the wall with a bang. In the doorway stood his Russian partner, her red hair as fiery as her temper. Natasha stood there silently, watching him nurse his injured toes from narrowed emerald eyes.

"What. Happened." Her voice, though soft, held an undercurrent of anger that Clint could pick up on easily.

"Nothing," he replied, shrugging one shoulder and trying to act nonchalant. He clenched his hand into a fist when the movement tugged on his wound and sent another wave of pain rippling through his body. In an attempt to seem carefree, he ran one hand through his short brown hair and pasted a smile on his visage. Natasha did not buy it for a second. She swept over to his bed and sat down beside him stiffly, all the while maintaining eye contact with him. Without breaking eye contact, she reached out a hand so it hovered over his injured torso. She then pressed it down lightly onto his upper chest. Clint sat there unflinchingly. Suddenly, she brought her hand down and gently, almost tenderly, smacked his wound.

His reaction was immediate.

"OW! Dammit, Tasha! What the heck was that for? Fu- "

"Oh, quit your whining, Barton. That's what you get for sneaking off on a damn mission without bringing your partner, you idiot. Serves you right for getting your ass kicked." She glared at him sharply for a moment longer before reaching under his bunk to where he had hastily attempted to conceal his med kit. Without batting an eyelid, she retrieved the gauze and iodine he had chucked back into the kid. Natasha waved her hand in an upward motion, gesturing for Clint to lift up his shirt. Thank goodness he wore a black shirt today- it hid the bloodstains better.

Clint lifted his shirt, exposing the gory wound to his partner. Upon seeing his wound, Natasha let out a small, almost imperceptible gasp. Quickly, she used the iodine-soaked pieces of gauze to clean his wound. She worked quietly and efficiently. The pile of bloodstained gauze pieces on his bed gradually grew. After several minutes of utter quiet, Natasha broke the silence.

"You going to explain why?"

Clint, whom had gone into a relaxed and drowsy state of mind from her ministrations, turned his half-lidded eyes towards her. She did not have to explain her question further; he already knew what she wanted to know. Why didn't he bring her with him? Why leave her behind? What did he want to hide- or more accurately, what did SHIELD want to hide- from her? She'd be damned if she didn't drag some answers out of him. She was his damn partner; she had a right to know.

He looked at her from under his eyelids, as though measuring and predicting what her reaction would be if he were to tell her the truth. Finally, he muttered out a couple of words.

"Red room. You. Personal. No go."

If she was not so stunned at the information, she would have rolled her eyes at his convoluted answer. She froze, her fingers remaining glued to his chest. Her eyes widened infinitesimally. That tiny reaction itself was enough to clue Clint in on the internal struggle Natasha was currently having.

"Oh, Tasha. C'mon, what's past is past. No need to relive it and torture yourself further," he murmured soothingly to her. He took her hand and gently grazed the back of it with his thumb. Natasha snapped out of her stupor and looked at him with glistening, frenzied eyes.

In an extremely swift motion, she had her hand out of his grasp and resting lightly against his cheek. "You have to know this, Clint. They will never stop going after me. Even if you try to take them out, they will still come after me. And now you, also." She hung her head, preventing him from looking at her. "What have you done, Clint? Now they'll be after you!"

Suddenly, she stood up from his bed, her face once again composed into the ice cold, impenetrable mask he hated. "I should leave, get away from you."

"No, Tasha! No, you can't leave. They'll find you and kill you even faster. Here, at least you have SHIELD's protection. And mine too, of course." He gave her a semblance of a smile, but it was enough to calm her somewhat. She looked at him almost forlornly. "They'll kill you, Clint," she said, sinking back onto his bunk, "they'll kill you because of me."

"Hey," he chided, tilting her head up with his fingers so he could gaze directly into her emerald eyes, eyes that had ensnared and transfixed so many others besides himself. "Have a little faith! I survived for this long, didn't I?" His smirk turned cocky and he could feel Natasha's depressed mood dissipating. She scoffed.

"So? You survived, but got hit by many people along the way. And many others have ordered hits on you."

"Yeah, but it's not my fault so many people like to hit on me, is it?" At that, Natasha rolled her eyes and smacked Clint upside his head before grabbing a roll of white bandages in the med kit.

"Please, Clint, your ego is showing. Do return it to its rightful size where it will be able to fit somewhere in that quiver of yours."

"I know you like that quiver, Tash. Don't suppress your feelings."

"Whatever, Barton." She pulled the bandages tight around his torso.

"Hey! Go easy on the person with the gaping stomach wound, woman!"

Natasha merely rolled her eyes at his antics and muttered 'Wimp' under her breath.

"I heard that, you know."

"Shut up, I'm trying to bandage your gaping stomach wound, idiot."

"Mm hm, but I'm the idiot that you care about." She would not deny that, so she chose not to answer him.

The moment she finished bandaging his wound, he grabbed her hand and pressed it to his cheek, savouring the feel of her skin against his. Her lips curved up slightly at the corners in her version of a soft smile. After a few moments, he released her hand to clear up the soiled gauze pieces and the med kit. Natasha sat on his bed, waiting for him to finish cleaning up so they could go for their routine post-mission snack. She reclined slightly on his bed, subtly trying to breathe in the scent of Clint- a mix of the standard-issue soap he used, gunpowder and leather. After a while, she noticed that Clint had already finished and was standing there staring at her lost in her thoughts.

"You ready to go say hi to the others? I'm sure Tony would be more than happy to get his video-game buddy back. And I want to talk to Pepper." At that, he raised an eyebrow at her. "Seriously, Tasha? What are you two going to talk about? Fashion and shopping?" he questioned suspiciously.

"Some stuff. You wouldn't understand," she remarked, shooting him a sly smile that never failed to make him nervous in one way or another. Sure, she had never been a typical female that talked endlessly about clothes and makeup, but that did not mean that they never had Girl Talks.

Natasha was sure that mentioning her appreciation for Clint's wonderfully toned body fell into one component of Girl Talk, which was one of the twisted reasons why she didn't mind bandaging his wounds. She was sure Pepper would understand and maybe identify somewhat with that notion. As long as Pepper stuck to Tony, she would have no issue discussing Clint's abs with her.

But Clint didn't need to know about that stuff, of course.

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A/N: Ok, now I'm going to sleep because it's late in this place I'm in. Hope you enjoyed this story. I just felt like writing about the power couple and sorta exploring their relationship somewhat? I had fun writing this though. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did! Thanks for reading! :D


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